Le Fantôme de l'Opéra a Existé Vraiment
by Phantress
Summary: Adelaide and Raoul have fled France and all the potential questioning and torture by the media. Yet, a persistent journalist – Moneiur Gaston Leroux – is determined to find the true story behind the legendary Opera Ghost. A sequel.
1. Chapter 1

Friends! Here is a fluffy, not-really-plot-moving chapter just to open the new sequel. I hope all of my old reviewers from The Vicomtess de Chagny come to join me here! I have most everything outlined, and I can already say that this story will be much shorter then the original. I hope you enjoy it despite that!

If you have come across this story and have not read the first one, I really suggest you do, otherwise you will be dreadfully lost! ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, like, it all. The only thing I do own is Adelaide, although – don't tell her that! Some OCs I'll bring in later are actually owned by history, so…this might be interesting! But, yes, yes, yes, not owned by me, rights go to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and not in that order.

I honestly wonder what it would what happen if someone posted something here and said, "yes, I own everything!" …if anyone ever finds a story like that, please, _please _tell me.

Alright, read, enjoy, review! , etc.

My son was born on an early May morning, in the seclusion of our cottage with the help of a silent midwife and our original servant girl, Jane. I paced nervously outside of the hall, watching Victorie – still clad in her nightgown - out the window who was enjoying the _very_ early morning sun. I had sent her out when Adelaide's cries became too shrill.

For the first time since her return, I compared her to Christine once more. This time, the differences more so amused me. Christine had cried out for my reassurance and supporting words through the closed door; Adelaide cursed my name a thousand times over, wished me pain and death, and swore many times, "never again, never again!" Christine's had been a surprisingly quick delivery, while Adelaide's continued for at least twelve hours.

I became concerned when those cries, after a few hours, had ceased and only soft cries of resignation to the horrible pain could be heard from my place in the hall and the urging of the midwives became louder. I began to pray, for I had not planned on the need to fetch a doctor. And where to fetch one, I knew not. I had left my sister's house, taking only Jane and our belongings without a note or a hint to where we had gone. I thought I would send a letter with no return address when we reached the United States.

I feared death in childbirth with Christine, and then with Adelaide. It was natural for me, as my birth had been the cause of my Mother's death. I constantly tried to remind myself of the differences in circumstances. My Mother had been significantly older at the time of my birth then either Christine – who survived – and Adelaide. Also, I knew Adelaide to be stronger then the both of them.

And yet, what if there were complications that should arise due to her inadequate care during the months of her abduction? Not to mention the constant stress of the entire situation. I had silently forgiven Erik for his crimes against me a second time, but a death of either my wife or child, or both, caused however indirectly I would never forgive him of. I had lost Christine, and lost Adelaide once…I could not bear to be a widower once more.

My thoughts were interrupted when the bedroom door quickly opened and the squall of an infant could be heard. Jane appeared at the door.

"Monsieur," she said quietly, and bobbed a curtsey.

"Everything was…alright?"

She nodded, a smile breaking her obedient little face.

"Well," I said, "will you please fetch Victorie from outside and send her in when I call for her, and also, see to the pay of the midwife when she leaves."

Jane nodded profusely and headed to the front door. Not waiting for Victorie's return, I walked calmly into the bedroom.

The midwife was pulling away dirtied sheets, and I caught sight of a basin filled with blood and vomit before quickly averting my glance, sickened. The babe's cries continued to fill the air, and I saw the midwife's assistant begin to wipe the child. My little wife was attempting to prop herself up with her elbows and sit comfortably. Her hair was plastered to her sweaty forehead, and even her lips were absolutely pale white.

I quickly strode to Adelaide's side, kneeling and helped her lean back and pushed the pillow underneath her, gently.

She looked at me with a feeble smile and let her head rest against the headboard.

"You don't want to divorce me, do you, darling?" I asked, smiling and taking her hand. "After all I heard from you, I thought I should try to get a head start and arrange the papers."

She blushed, bringing only a slight color to her ashen face and squeezed my hand. She was breathing heavily, the sound was hoarse and pained.

"You must be exhausted, _ma pauvre chéri_," I began pushing her wild hair over her shoulders. She nodded, still unable to speak.

"Here you are, there, ma'am," the midwife came over, and I quickly stood. "Sir," she said, speaking with me now, "a healthy boy."

She handed me the small, warm bundle and continued speaking.

"I was concerned for your wife for a bit there," I saw Adelaide sit up and try to follow her rough French, a worried look spreading over her face, "but, she came through right, once she stopped fighting it. Also, she refused the use of chloroform. "

I felt guilty when she had said this. Adelaide had mentioned once before the idea of not using anything that would dull her senses for fear of saying something that might give away her location during her "disappearance" or any details concerning it while under the influence. I looked over at her, wanting to apologize.

"Future children…?" I asked quietly in French, turning back to the midwife.

"I see no reason why not, monsieur" she reassured me. I smiled in relief. Christine's midwife had suggested – nearly ordered – to be sure it never happened again, for the sake of her health.

"Thank you," I said earnestly. "Our maid will see you paid." I nodded to the door, and after picking up her tools, she left.

Turning to Adelaide, I placed the baby in her arms, finally getting a chance to look at him. His eyes were pressed closed, and his features were so undeveloped, I was unable to see any vestiges of myself, or of Adelaide, in him, but I hoped in time they would become more pronounced.

Poor Adelaide looked overwhelmed by the slight weight in her arms and gasped slightly upon seeing the child's face. I nearly scowled at myself for not expressing more excitement, but, the entire scene was reminding me painfully of Christine with the birth of Victorie and how animated and excited Christine had been: talking until she fell asleep and then babbling once again when she awoke. For as difficult of a labor as it had been for her, she had never let me know and you would have thought the experience had been the best of her life.

I did believe Adelaide was subdued purposely, for she knew that fact. Just as she had worn off-white at our wedding, and I'm sure many other examples I was blind to. However, when I studied her more closely, I knew that was not the case. She was in genuine shock.

After a time, she glanced up at me, her eyes full of tears and a childish grin beginning to spread over her face.

"What?" I asked jokingly, "you want another one now?"

She nodded dramatically and began to laugh, caressing the child's face with her fingertips, and bent to place a delicate kiss on his wrinkled, red forehead as if the boy was made of glass.

A little demand from outside the room broke the silence.

"Papa, Papa, I want to see!"

Adelaide beamed, and quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and sat up a little straighter. After an approving nod from my wife, I opened the door and Victorie shot in like a bullet and ran to the other side of the bed, jumping on my side as if she had never been taught a manner in her life.

"Gently!" I cautioned her quickly, defending Adelaide's current delicacy, but the new big sister paid no mind.

"Would you like to hold him?" Victorie shook her head eagerly and Adelaide instructed, "Alright, well, sit with your back to the headboard, and your legs flat out in front of you. Now hold out your arms."

With limbs as shaky as her voice, Adelaide placed the boy in Victorie's arms. She cried out in excitement and held him close.

Unable to deprive Adelaide of her deserved affections - due to my selfish reasons, only - any longer, I knelt next to her once more and took her face in my hands and showered her clammy face with kisses.

"Thank you, darling. Thank you for my boy!" I am afraid that my voice revealed too much forced enthusiasm although I truly was happy.

"I gave you a son, just like I promised I would," she murmered, her cheeks flushing with an odd combination of pride and embarrassment to my burst of attention once more.

I gave her another series of kisses and told her I was quite proud of her strength.

Fortunately, it seemed that bit of gratitude and affection was well received. For, when I pulled away, her face had filled with color again and she starred at me, her eyes full of joy.

"What shall we name him?" she asked softly, laying her head back once more and shutting her eyes.

"I had originally thought after my Father…but, in light of recent events, I believe we should do something more English. More _American._"

Adelaide opened her eyes quickly, and gave me a warning look, for, we had not yet told Victorie of our plans.

"I had thought William perhaps, after _my _Father."

"William Burnett?"

"Yes," she smiled, in recognition of her maiden name.

I helped her slide more towards the middle of the bed, and I sat upright next to her and pulled her into me from the waist up, and she curled up in my lap as she had that afternoon in the carriage. I pulled her hair through my fingers, massaging her scalp and temples.

"Does your headache?"

"Yes," she mumbled hoarsely, "but, I assume it's normal after childbirth. And from lack of sleep. What time is it?"

"Just after nine."

She nodded, truly not caring and pressed tighter into me, wrapping an arm loosely about my waist.

Thus, we sat for but an instance in time that felt like an eternity to me, and I wanted to keep this moment forever. Those moments in life are so very rare, I took advantage of the silence to look back upon a few. I suddenly felt like an unfaithful husband through thought; the majority of my memories were with Christine.

I thought of the moment when Christine and I sat on the ground, our hands intwined, while her Father played the violin and told us a story from the North. The scene of Paris asleep beneath us, and Christine clutching my shoulders near Apollo's Lyre also flew through my mind. How young I was then…and so full of hope!

I then realized that all of those moments had been shared (the latter of which I had come to discover years later after a long conversation with Christine years after our wedding) with two other men both of which Christine cared for very deeply: her father, and her maestro.

But now, I sat quietly, knowing that this third moment could never be taken from me. It was mine, absolutely.


	2. Chapter 2

So, I just realized that I discontinued publishing, but had not discontinued writing! I wonder if anyone is truly still out there… hmm? Well, review if you'd like but now I am just proving to myself that I CAN complete something!

I don't own anything – bah humbug!

----

Adelaide recovered surprisingly fast and was walking around the house, fully dressed and back to her self within four days. I felt the need to remind her to relax, and recover before we left for such an arduous trip, not allowing her to carry anything heavy or remain on her feet for too long.

All in vain, I should not have believed she would listen to me. She insisted that we begin to care for our own house not as a family who was accustomed to servants, but as a more typical lower-middle class member of society as now poor Jane was up at all hours with the baby. I tried to remind Adelaide to be easy on her self and that she could have as much time to recover as she wanted for she too was forced to wake up at all hours of the night as we had no wet nurse.

The change over Adelaide – for all new mothers do change to a degree – was no where near as significant as the one over Christine. I was disappointed she did not soften a bit, and even spoke to the child as she would with any adult, never adopting that voice many tend to use with young children: sing-song and childish.

As I approached the house, I heard Adelaide's steady voice softly reading aloud from the bible as she often did in the afternoons to Victorie.

"Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear God and keep his commandments, for this is man's all, for God will bring every work into judgment, including every secret thing, whether good or evil. It…"

She jumped slightly when she heard the door open, quickly forcing the ribbon in the center of the book and rose to greet me.

"Interesting passage," I noted. Adelaide frowned at me for a moment, and she came to my side, embraced me for no reason and then after a moment looked up at me.

"Were you able to find tickets?"

"Yes," I answered, "we will leave in a next Thursday week."

"Leave?" asked Victorie, attentive.

Adelaide's eyes widened quickly and turned around, looking at Victorie hesitantly.

I smoothly stepped forward, taking Victorie and placing her on my lap ready to explain simply.

"We are going to move to the United States soon." She looked at me, uncomprehendingly, and I continued. "It is the large country across the Atlantic that France helped to gain it's independence from England. What do you think of that?"

She nodded in excitement, unaffected by the depth of my words and jumped off to go play outside. Smiling, Adelaide walked carefully and sat down next to me on the sofa. No sooner had she sat, when the cries of the baby filled the air. Wearily she sighed, bracing herself to stand.

"No, don't," I said, putting my arm out to stop her. "I'll fetch him for you."

"Thank you, Raoul."

I returned with the child, and Jane following behind me.

"I will have supper ready within the hour, Sir," said Jane quietly.

"Oh, Jane," Adelaide called out to her as she walked towards the kitchen, "I will not be eating tonight."

I looked over at her, raising my eyebrow.

"What?" she asked innocently, "I am simply not hungry."

I nodded, allowing her excuse to go by, but disappointed by her need to follow low-class trends.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own anything!

Do review!

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Raoul's POV

We left for Boston less then two weeks later under the aliases of Ralph and Anne Maisonneuve. It was easy to find a flat in Boston with the money I had allotted to spend on housing; it was fully furnished which saved us the inconvenience of purchasing new furniture. After a very short period of time, Adelaide found a Catholic parish to join and we were welcomed into the city. I found a position at a law firm - my degree Philippe had pressured me into receiving finally became useful. I had to explain that regretfully, I had lost all my paperwork in the immigration, but easily studied and passed the bar exam in Massachusetts. The fact that I was tri-lingual was also quite useful in such a multicultural city; a fascinating aspect of the entire country, I came to discover.

Adelaide began teaching French to the daughters of the community which helped her adapt to life in Boston. Because Adelaide ran the house with an iron fist, we did not go long without an airtight schedule. I left quite early in the morning, a bit before six as I traveled to meet clients that lived outside of the city. Victorie received private tutoring until noon. Sometimes I would return from lunch, and then her tutoring would resume until three o'clock. Adelaide's French students would arrive at three and remain until five. I would return by six in time for supper. It was an organized, pleasant existence.

Adelaide and I, in private, often marveled how smoothly our "new lives" were going and what little questioning we received from new friends and neighbors. We were fortunate enough that Victorie had been so unaffected by our previous lifestyle in France – being the daughter of a Vicomte – that we were not worried of anything she might say.

Soon, however, I began to seek out things that were abnormal out of sheer paranoia. I noticed the same man often outside our flat, or in our Church and yet, no one else knew a thing about him except for that he too was French. I would nod my head out of politeness when we walked closely on the street, and I was always met with a curious grin.

Could he know something…?

--

Adelaide's POV

I quickly regained my slim figure through means of which I am ashamed of, but was not an uncommon practice as I remembered when I had been a young girl in London. The results were pleasing, and the practice became a comfort to me.

Raoul and I were well received and respected in Boston very quickly. I was amused by the fact that everyone commented on how well he could have portrayed an aristocrat due to his air and dignity. We laughed quietly, thinking how either perceptive they were or how ridiculous Raoul was.

We quickly hired a second maid to assist poor Jane who I am sure was at her wit's end. Sophie was a poor French immigrant who we hired quickly due to the one reason she could find work no where else: her English was atrocious and she was naturally fluent in French.

I became very active in the community, and would sometimes play the organ for Sunday services at our parish. Victorie came to love her new tutor, and began to ask us when we would send her to girl's school in New York City as many young girls of society in Boston did at the age of eleven. Raoul would feign insult whenever she would ask and demand to know why she was in such a hurry to leave her poor Papa. Victorie would respond by only laughing and continued begging. Raoul and I were proud of ourselves for raising a daughter, in truth, who searched for independence. I could not ask for a better husband for a Father.

Despite how busy work kept him, he was no stranger to our new son who would only smile at the sound of his voice and stretch out his plump arms to be held by him. Will seemed to be growing every moment I looked away, and by six months he already showed not only physical, but personality traits of both Raoul and I…which was a _very _frightening thought.

Raoul began insinuating the idea of having more children, and I would say nothing upon the idea, feeling neutral towards it. I inwardly felt fortunate that I had been allowed so much time between children; many women in Boston had children only ten months apart, and more then six or seven little ones! However, it seemed that Raoul's wish was to be fulfilled. By February of the New Year, I found myself ill in the mornings and plagued with fatigue and headaches.

It was also around this time that I surprised myself by feeling an overwhelming wave of homesickness. I had to laugh at myself bitterly when I was feeling particularly sorry for myself, for, I had been without a constant home for years. I had married quickly, and we attempted to relocate to France…and then my time with Erik, and then my release, and then quickly to the United States! So then what I "missed" was a mystery to even myself.

I went on a search for it.

One dreary March morning, out of absolute despair, I wrote a heartfelt letter to my sister who I assumed still resided in the same little flat with my Father, tucked away in the rolling moors of England. I had written to her only briefly of my marriage and also of our upcoming move to France, but never received a response. I surprised myself by the amount of detail that poured from my mind and hand and onto the page. I began to forget it was to my sister I was writing, and it was not some sort of diary.

Like a guilty child, I silently and stealthily stamped and went to mail my letter, I kept my hat angled away from the pedestrians of Boston. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a portly man ran into me from behind on the sidewalk.

"Oh, pardon me, sir!" I exclaimed quickly, turning away.

To my horror, he caught my arm and murmured, "_Mon erreur, Madame le—_"

I pulled my arm out and nodded quickly before he had finished, however, I was half way down the block before I realized he had _not _finished his statement. What would he have finished it with? _Vicomtess? _

It would not be until later that I realized I had not posted the letter – I had rushed home after being so startled by the man. Yet I never saw the letter again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Adelaide!"

Her head flew up from where it had sunk in her hand while we were sitting quietly in the sitting room one evening.

"Oh, Raoul, I'm sorry. I did not go back to bed this morning after you left. I must admit, I am quite tired," she smiled largely and said, "I honestly do not know how you run on so little sleep. It concerns me, actually."

I shook my head, as if to insist she should not be concerned, but, I had learned it was useless to say so. I turned my eyes back to a two day old newspaper but quickly looked back up as Adelaide began to pace the room, her green gown clouding the Persian pattern on the rug. She finally stopped, gazing out on the humid May evening. I smiled slightly, catching sight of the very slight curve of her belly.

She turned quickly, now conscious of the fact that I was looking at her.

"What?" she asked quickly, bringing her hand to her face.

"Oh, nothing I was simply—" before I could find something to say, Adelaide raised her range of vision from where I was sitting to a new shadow in the doorway.

"Sir," murmured Jane, "my apologies, I just remembered…there was a letter brought to the door. Before I could even put aside the newspaper to stand, Adelaide had glided across the room and took the letter.

"Thank you, Jane, good night."

Looking back at my newspaper, I asked lazily: "Who is it from, dear?"

After a moment, I realized she had not responded and rose to take it myself.

I stopped shortly when I realized my wife stood with all the blood drained from her face, and her body rigid. Nearly running to her side, I clutched her shoulders but she only pushed the letter to me, her white fingers clutching the crème sachet to where only our address was visible. Pushing away her fingers, I too froze.

It was addressed to _Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny_ with our Boston address in the same script beneath it.

"Adelaide," I began, dragging us both to the sofa, and pulling her down with me. "How? ...Why?"

"_Who?_" she whispered tearing it from my hands and breaking the seal. We scanned it quickly and lowered it in her lap, closing her eyes. "Gaston Leroux…" she pulled her head up again quickly, her green eyes wide open, darting everywhere. "The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

I walked over to the windows rapidly, pulling the drapes closed.

"Stop it," she moaned, putting her face in her hand. When I closed the parlor door, she nearly screeched for me to stop again. "You act as if we are _criminals! _We have done nothing! This is ridiculous. I should just _open _the windows!"

"We have done something!" I said firmly, walking back to the sofa. "Forgetting everything out of our control, we have come here, we have changed our names. We have intruded on the trust of good people," I gestured emptily out to the sleeping street that lay behind the curtains.

"We're not criminals," she repeated, stubbornly. "You're overreacting."

Adelaide and I remained silent for a moment, and then for the first time it was I who broke it and not her.

"Adelaide," I said calmly, "_how? _Do you know?"

She looked up and shook her head instinctually, she opened her mouth to further insist she did not know, but clamped it shut quickly and looked away.

"How?" I repeated louder, kneeling at her side not in a caring manner, but to retrieve an answer she was obviously hoarding.

"I don't know!"

I chose to instead to remain silent and hope that the answer would slip out from her guilty lips. Sooner then I expected, she turned back to me and in the most childlike manner I had ever seen her regress to, she joined me on the floor and fell into my arms with tears streaming down her face.

Without providing any comfort, I attempted to pull her away, push her hair back and read her face. "What? What did you do?"

My empty accusation only made her cry more furiously, but she pulled into herself realizing I would provide no comfort and humiliated.

"I'm sorry," she cried out, "I am so, so, so sorry…I don't know why I did it, but I did!"

"Did what? Adelaide, speak!"

She stopped for a moment, strangely calm and then slowly spoke, hysterics disappeared. "I'm homesick, Raoul. I miss my family! I want to go _home!_" In only three sentences she had completely puzzled me. I would have never imagined my fearless bride pleading to return back to the comforts of "home" – although, I was at a loss to where exactly she meant.

"So," she continued, "I wrote to my sister. I explained…" she hesitated, "I explained many things. But," her hysterical tone rose again, and she began to stumble over her words, "a man…he bumped me when I was putting it in the letter box! He might have retrieved it! Oh, Raoul, I was so _stupid!_ And now we must flee again!"

"No, Adelaide," I pulled her into my shoulder where she continued to mutter apologies of all sorts, "We're not going to leave. We're going to meet this man and speak with him. We will give him what he wants and then we won't have to worry about it anymore."

Adelaide looked up at me calmly, and picked herself up enough to slide back into the sofa.

"I've thought this through," she continued to stare at me as if I was speaking a language she could not decipher, "I was afraid he would return. He wrote to me at Renee's."

After a moment, Adelaide said serenely, "Raoul, there is no return address."


End file.
